


Denouement

by beetle



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Post-Inception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:32:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this inception_kink prompt, "No one can resist dat ass. Let's have some rimming."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Denouement

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: "Not I," says the bug.  
> Notes: Set post-Inception by a few hours.

  
Arthur is completely fucked up.  
  
Aside from the obvious--a jolly collection of psychopathological and nervous disorders that would surprise no one except maybe,  _maybe_  Cobb--he's been drunk since checking into his hotel room, and stoned since shortly after locking the door to his suite.  
  
Now, he lounges in the huge hotel bathtub, slowly turning himself into a prune by adding more hot water the moment the tub goes less than scalding-hot, smoking a joint and thinking about nothing at all--certainly not about the Inception he'd just had a hand in performing.  
  
Not when the colors on the backs of his eyelids are very pretty and demand his undivided attention.  
  
Wasted as he is, he still hears the snick of the room door opening then closing, and is reaching for the gun on the edge of the tub automatically. Cat-quiet feet cross the suite, to the open bathroom door, and Arthur's gun tracks them steadily. The intruder is making no real attempt at stealth, and can no doubt see Arthur's gun trained on him.  
  
"Just because COBOL didn't kill you, sweetheart, doesn't mean I won't."  
  
"Aw, I missed you, too, baby."  
  
Arthur opens his eyes and looks up at Nash, who's smirking like old times. Arthur smiles back and centers the gun.  
  
"Tell me why I shouldn't put a bullet right between your eyes."  
  
Nash holds up his hands slowly. "Because I didn't sell you out?"  
  
Arthur snorts, putting just-visible pressure on the trigger. Even blitzed, his finger is rock-steady and scalpel-precise. "Try again, lover."  
  
Nash's smile turns wistful. "I didn't, you know? Sell  _you_  out. I sold out Cobb. I had no idea you'd follow him to Kyoto. Saito's men were only supposed to get Cobb."  
  
"Oh, is  _that_  all?" Arthur cocks his head and the hammer. "I think I'll shoot you, now."  
  
"Fuck--" Nash ducks as the gun goes off, loud in the small space despite the silencer. A bullet buries itself in the wall half an inch from his head.  
  
Silence and the scent of gunpowder fills the air between them.  
  
Finally, Arthur sighs and leans back in the tub, closing his eyes. "You  _would_  wait till I'm stoned to show up."  
  
Nash grins. "Don't act like you didn't miss on purpose."  
  
Arthur rests the gun on the edge of the tub again, but doesn't take his finger off the trigger. "Next time, I won't."  
  
Nash approaches, kicking off his shoes, and kneels by the tub, swirling his fingers in the hot water, shuttling suds here and there. "You're the only man I know who takes baths, let alone bubble baths."  
  
"Fascinating. Remember what I said about not missing, next time?"  
  
"Arthur," Nash murmurs, leaning close enough that his breath feels cool on Arthur's shoulder. "Let me make it up to you."  
  
Arthur opens his eyes again, glaring even though the pot's relaxed him to the point that all he feels at Nash's presence is muzzy annoyance. "You tried to get my best friend killed. There isn't enough making-up on the fucking  _planet_."  
  
Nash is no longer smiling, his dark eyes lowered behind long lashes. He's watching the waves his hand makes in the water.  
  
"I may not like Cobb, but I didn't want to see him dead. And we both knew good and well Saito wouldn't kill him. Not someone with Cobb's rep in the business."  
  
"You knew that, huh? Did you know Saito would throw you to COBOL like the Benedict Arnold you are?" Arthur shifts his leg when Nash's fingers brush his thigh.  
  
Nash sighs. "That I  _didn't_  know. I thought . . . I'd get a pay-off, and then I'd find you, and we'd. . . ." he smiles sadly.  
  
Ignoring that last part, Arthur evades Nash's fingers again. "How much?"  
  
Now Nash meets Arthur's eyes again. "Protection from COBOL. For the both of us."  
  
Arthur sits forward, till his nose is nearly brushing Nash's. "You think I need you to protect me?"  
  
"I think that when it comes to Cobb, you need  _someone_  to look after your best interests, since you seem pretty incapable of doing it yourself." Nash makes an miserable face. "I mean, the man already got one person who loved him killed, and here you are, stepping up to be the next in line like a faithful little bitch-boy--"  
  
The gun clatters to the floor, and Nash falls back on his ass from the force of Arthur's slap. They stare at each other in shock, Arthur breathing hard and Nash touching his face, a reddened palm-print already visible on his olive skin.  
  
Finally, Arthur stands up and steps carefully out of the tub, heedless of the water dripping off him. He leaves the gun where it is--useless, now, until it dries and has been cleaned--and steps past Nash, who grabs his ankle.  
  
"I waited for you in Osaka," he says desperately. Arthur doesn't look down, but he doesn't kick his leg free, either. "I waited because I just  _knew_  you'd follow me. That it'd finally be just the two of us, and we could just get the hell  _out_. Together. But you didn't follow me, you followed  _him_. And Saito's goons caught me, twiddling my thumbs in a sake bar, still waiting for you. So, I told them where Cobb was, hoping like hell you weren't with him. But I should've known."  
  
"Nash--"  
  
"Why him, and not me, Arthur?" Nash gets to his knees, then to his feet, his hands sliding up Arthur's sides, then around his back in a loose embrace. They stand eye-to-eye, or would if Arthur could force himself to look at Nash.  
  
He swallows, and makes the attempt. Nash's eyes are every bit as open and honest as he'd feared they'd be. Nash is many things, but a liar is not one of them.  
  
And neither is Arthur, really. Not when it comes to Nash.  
  
"I don't know," he says softly. "I wish I did."  
  
Nash sighs, holding Arthur tighter and leaning their foreheads together. "I guess it doesn't matter, does it? It doesn't change the way I feel about you. I wish it did, but it doesn't."  
  
"Nash--" Arthur starts, but is cut off when Nash kisses him hard, his large, calloused hands sliding down to Arthur's ass, squeezing and kneading. Arthur moans into Nash's mouth, helplessly wrapping one leg around Nash's for easier access. And Nash, who is many things, but not slow, takes the hint and presses between Arthur's cheeks, two fingers finding his opening, circling and circling.  
  
"Yes," Arthur breathes, grinding against Nash's hard-on. The friction from Nash's jeans makes every hair on his body stand straight up.  
  
"I want you," Nash whispers, his fingers breaching the first tight ring of muscle, and Arthur gasps as a wave of pleasure, edged deliciously with pain rolls through him. "Tell me you want me, too."  
  
"Want you," Arthur grunts as Nash's dry fingers wriggle and scissor, barely within him, but just deep enough to feel that sweet, discomfiting burn. "Please. . . ."  
  
Just like that, Nash's fingers are gone, but before Arthur can protest their absence, he's being swept up into Nash's arms and carried out into the suite.  
  
Holding on and holding still so as not to wind up dropped on his ass, Arthur sighs. "Who'm I, Scarlett O'Hara?"  
  
Nash smiles a little. "Just call me Rhett Butler."  
  
"I'll call you an asshole if you don't put me down."  
  
Nash does, indeed, drop Arthur on his ass--but on the bed, not the floor.  
  
"Fiddle-dee-dee," Arthur deadpans, and: "How romantical of you, Rhett."  
  
Nash grins, and unbuttons his jeans, shoving them and his underwear down. His cock is hard and hugging his abdomen, pre-come running down the sides. Arthur licks his lips and spreads his legs.  
  
"On your stomach," Nash says, stepping out of his jeans and shucking off his shirt. "I wanna see that perfect ass while I fuck it."  
  
Arthur shivers, and does as he's told, rolling onto his stomach and drawing his legs up to give Nash a good view. He looks over his shoulder, smirking and just in time to see Nash kneeling on the floor next to the bed. "What--"  
  
Nash grabs Arthur's hips and drags them forward, until Arthur is half-hanging off the bed. When Arthur squirms, Nash smacks his ass hard enough to make him yelp, and before Arthur can do more than that, he's kissing the spot he smacked.  
  
"You're so beautiful," Nash whispers fervently. " _He_  may not see that, but  _I_  do. I do."  
  
Then he's holding Arthur's cheeks apart and flicking his tongue against the puckered opening between them. Arthur makes a noise of surprise three octaves higher than what he's comfortable with hearing coming from his own mouth, and is torn evenly between grinding down against the bed and pushing back onto Nash's tongue.  
  
Strong hands hold his hips in place, almost hard enough to bruise. Nash's tongue curls and unfurls inside Arthur, and they both moan, Arthur already gone nearly mindless with the need to come. Nash hums and sucks, licks and laves Arthur's hole with the kind of dedication and precision Arthur's only ever given to a disassembled gun.  
  
"Fuck me, fuck me," Arthur chants, burying his face in the duvet, humping the bed like a virgin trying to get off. "Please, Nash. . . ."  
  
Nash kisses and sucks his way up to the small of Arthur's back. "I know you get off on how much I love to eat you out, Arthur."  
  
"Unh . . . want. . . ." Arthur shivers as Nash brushes his opening with feather-light fingertips.  
  
"Tell me what you want, baby."  
  
" _Fuck_  . . . want your cock."  
  
Nash climbs on the bed between Arthur's thighs, pushing his legs wider and positioning himself with one hand while the other tangles in Arthur's wet hair. "Tell me how bad you need it."  
  
Arthur lets out a strangled cry as Nash bites his ear lobe.  
  
" _Need_  your cock so bad . . . need you to fuck me . . . been too long, t-too-- _oh, fuck!_ " Arthur wails as Nash drives himself home with one smooth, powerful thrust. That thrust is aided only by the recent hot bath, Nash's saliva, and the desire-slackened muscles that take Nash with need and relief and welcome.  
  
Arthur knows he's going to pay later, and not _much_ later, with soreness and ache, if not outright tearing. But for now, the hurt is _very_ good. As his body struggles to adjust to and accommodate the suddenness of Nash's girthy cock, Arthur's pretty sure he's sobbing: mostly Nash's name, and gasping and hissing _yes_ es.  
  
"That's right, baby," Nash croons in his ear, pulling out slowly, only to thrust back in hard and fast. "Gonna fuck you so.  _Hard_."  
  
Tears stand out in Arthur's eyes and roll down his face as Nash sets a punishing, merciless pace. The hand in Arthur's hair tightens and pushes Arthur's face into the bed until he can only barely breathe. Still he spreads his legs wider, needing Nash in him as deep as possible.  
  
For a while there's only the slap of skin on skin, Arthur's muffled cries, and Nash's labored grunts. Then Nash angles his cock just so, thrusting extra hard. Arthur bucks up, nearly throwing Nash off him.  
  
"Oh, God,  _Nash!_ "  
  
"Fuck, yeah, baby . . . you feel so good around me . . . so hot and so tight. . . ."  
  
Arthur struggles up to his hands and knees, shaking Nash's hand free of his hair. With some effort, he bears up against Nash's weight and manages to meet each and every thrust even as Nash grasp his hips and yanks them back.  
  
Soon, Nash's pace quickens, but his tempo falters, his hips stuttering and jerking without grace or rhythm. Arthur's so hard now that it hurts, and unable to touch himself lest he go sprawling.  
  
" _Touch me_ ," he begs hoarsely. " _Please_ , Nash, just touch me."  
  
One hand unclenches from Arthur's hip and slides around to his front. Damp fingers stroke down his cock and Arthur draws in a shuddering breath, his balls tightening just as Nash squeezes and pulls on them harder than any well-adjusted man should enjoy. Arthur gasps as every muscle in his body bears down on Nash's cock and the prickly-heat of his orgasm gathers at the base of his spine.  
  
He lets out a yell of pure release as he comes, shooting all over his chest, Nash's hand, and the duvet, his own hips stuttering as they meet Nash's without pride or poetry.  
  
When every last bit of pleasure has been ripped from him, he collapses to the bed, Nash following him part of the way, then balancing on one hand as he holds Arthur's pelvis to his own with the other and drives back into Arthur's surrendered body.  
  
"That's right, baby . . . give it all to me. . . ." he's muttering, still fucking into Arthur hard, but panting, too. Arthur moans, too fucked-out to do more than lay there and take it as Nash continues to use his body.  
  
After a few minutes, Nash's thrusts slow, though they don't gentle, and the hand on Arthur's hip is now definitely clenching hard enough to leave hand-shaped bruises. It wouldn't be the first time.  
  
Finally Nash pulls out, but doesn't thrust back in. When Arthur summons what little energy he has left to look over his shoulder again, Nash's head is thrown back and he's stroking himself fast and rough. His cock is a dark, angry red, as is most of his visible skin.  
  
"God, fuck," Nash is muttering, biting his lip as he looks down at Arthur, who smirks, and draws one leg up so Nash can get a good look at his handiwork.  
  
"Yeah," Nash says in a choked, cracking voice. "Oh, yeah . . . gonna . . . unh--"  
  
Nash comes hard, as hard as he'd fucked Arthur, spurting all over Arthur's back, ass, and legs. Still he strokes himself, wringing every last drop out of himself before collapsing on Arthur's back.  
  
They lay there panting until Arthur snorts a quiet laugh. "Well, fiddle-dee- _dee_."  
  
Nash chuckles breathlessly into Arthur's hair, then rolls off of him, onto his back, taking Arthur with him. Though he's not one for cuddling, Arthur's long since accepted the fact that Nash  _is_. So, they lay there, staring up at the hotel ceiling, Arthur absently ticking off the myriad aches throughout his pleasantly humming body.  
  
Nash runs his fingers down Arthur's bicep then back up, squeezing him close. Arthur rolls his head just enough so that he can kiss Nash at the junction where his jaw and neck meet. He's got five o'clock shadow and it prickles against Arthur's lips.  
  
"How  _did_  you square things with COBOL?"  
  
Nash shudders, taking a deep breath and very carefully not looking at Arthur. "Don't ask, okay?"  
  
So, Arthur doesn't. But he  _does_  have to ask: "It's nothing that'll come back to bite Cobb in the ass, right? Nash?" Alarmed when Nash doesn't answer immediately, Arthur sits up, pulling out of Nash's arms. "God _damn_ it,  _Nash!_ "  
  
When Nash finally meets Arthur's eyes, his own are somber and intense, and too shiny for Arthur to hold that gaze for long. "No, alright? I learned my lesson: I hurt Cobb, I hurt you, so . . . I don't hurt Cobb."  
  
Relieved, Arthur lays back down, next to Nash, but not touching him. "You're a real prince."  
  
"We both know what kinda man you like, baby, and it ain't a prince." And when Arthur smacks his thigh hard, Nash sighs. "Christ, you really do  _love_  that bastard, don't you?"  
  
Arthur winces at the bitterness in Nash's voice. "Yes," he says, and can feel Nash's gaze hot on his face, like a sunburn.  
  
"But do you love  _me_ , too?"  
  
Taking a deep breath of his own, Arthur rolls onto his side, facing away from Nash.  
  
"Don't ask," he says, and Nash doesn't. Simply spoons up behind him, and holds him for the rest of the night.


End file.
